


save the last dance for me

by somecrappyusername



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Dancing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, but i got carried away AS USUAL, originally this was much shorter, so please enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somecrappyusername/pseuds/somecrappyusername
Summary: Forced proximity to someone you hate is usually uncomfortable. But this one time, just this one time, it wasn't so bad after all.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter One

SIMON

Of all the battles that I have faced, this one is by _far_ the worst. There was not a place I’d like less to be, but like every other student at Watford, I’ve been stuck at the Holiday Formal, a new mandatory event the Mage instated to “bolster morale and improve student relations.” I have half a mind to go off and end this whole thing quickly. At least I would, if it weren’t for the spells in place keeping anyone from doing heavy magic.

The worst, however, was yet to come. It got _so much worse._ Part of the event was a mandatory “dance with your roommate” portion. Everyone was required to spend the duration of one song on the dance floor with the person they shared their room with-- as if the room-sharing wasn’t enough, now the Mage was forcing me to _dance_ with _Baz._ I’ve taken up a spot in a corner and spent the whole dance trying not to think about what comes next. 

It didn’t make it better finding out that Baz was a pro at dancing, either. He moved with such grace and finesse that I found myself unable to look away at times. Of course, it was all coming from a place of hatred. Never jealousy. I do not envy the way Baz flows with the music, nor am I jealous of the poise and composure Baz kept while spinning our classmates around the dance floor (or while doing one of those stupid group dances everyone BUT me seemed to know).

I’m at least grateful that Baz was seemingly avoiding Agatha with the same fervor that Simon was avoiding him. It didn’t take her long to sidle up to my left and plant herself stoically beside me, wearing a matching expression as she, too, watched Baz flit around.

“Don’t the two of you look a pair,” Penny’s voice rose up from my right. “You’d think Simon’s ranting about Baz’s evilness had finally gotten through to you, the way you’re glaring him down, Aggie.” Agatha scoffed. 

“Don’t call me that. And I’m not scowling. I’m just-”

“No, you are scowling. It’s a bit scary.” Penny peered over the rim of her glasses and made a pointed look around the room. “You notice how there’s not a soul within ten feet of you right now?” Agatha tore her eyes from Baz to look at her feet, which scuffed at the floor. “And you, Simon. You’d better get your dance in soon, otherwise you’ll have to deal with the Mage.” I hate when she’s right. And she’s right most of the time.

“Don’t you have to dance with Trixie?” I ask, hoping to distract her.

“My problem is not working up the resolve to dance with her, it’s tearing her away from Keris that’s the issue.” Penny nodded in Baz’s direction. “Looks like you don’t have to worry about that, though. He keeps glancing over here. Probably wondering when you’ll stop being such a dunce and go get it over with.” I look over, and soon enough, Baz does indeed cast a look in our direction, clearly looking at me and not Agatha. I try to silence the little part of my mind that sees this as a victory over her. _Ha ha,_ it says, _I won this round. Good luck to_ you _trying to get a dance in._ I ignore the thoughts.

“All right, students, this is the final song of the night. Those of you who still need to get in your roommate dance are required to get yourselves on the floor at this time and partner up. You have five minutes.” Wonderful. This is just wonderful.

I glance around for Baz as if I hadn’t been keeping a watchful eye on him for the past three hours. Maybe he hadn’t noticed-- but I know he did. He always does. At times I wonder why he doesn’t stop me. Other times I wonder why _I_ don’t stop myself. Nothing ever comes of me aggressively watching him.

“Snow.” Baz says from behind me, more of a statement than a call for attention.

“Baz,” I reply, turning to face him.

“May I?” He holds a hand out to me expectantly, without even looking me in the eye. Tosser. 

“I haven’t much of a choice, have I?” I let out a sigh. “Let’s just keep it civil.” Baz nods and takes me by the arm towards the dance floor. 

“I intend to treat you as I treat anyone else. You won’t be getting any special treatment from me tonight.” I laugh a bit at this. 

“Special treatment? Is that what we’re calling years of plotting my demise?” Baz smiles. There’s no malice behind it, which is unusual. It looks nice on him. (I only let myself think this because we agreed on civility, and I don’t bother saying it.)

“It gets tiring after a while. You can be thick as a bag of rocks sometimes but somehow my past twelve hired assassins failed.” This earns him a full laugh from me.

“Hey,” I protest, “We agreed on civility.” It’s easier than I expected. We have about two minutes before the song is due to start. People have begun to gather. Most of them are staring directly at us. I don’t blame them. We’ve never been quiet about hating each other, so this must be a sight to see.

“So.” Baz shuffles his feet in a moment of awkwardness I’ve never seen him in before. He still has not met my eyes, opting instead for other parts of my face, seemingly without any rhyme or reason.

“So,” I return. The first few notes of music rise over the din of chatter from the crowd. I freeze. Baz visibly stiffens. Paul Anka’s voice rises as “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” begins playing over the loudspeakers.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. _Of course_ it’s a slow song. It’s the last song of the night. 

“Simon Snow,” Baz says, before clearing his throat; he finally meets my eyes as he asks, “may I have this dance?” I nod begrudgingly. He puts a hand on my shoulder, motioning for me to put mine on his waist. He takes my other hand in his and we begin to move. He coaches me through the first few steps, clearly struggling to hold back his swears as I repeatedly step on his toes. I get the hang of it after a bit. He really is quite good at this. Even with me as his partner, we easily out-dance any other pairs on the floor at this point. 

I’m sure it has nothing to do with him being my partner, but… dancing like this is incredible. It feels a bit like floating. I think at one point we do rise up--just a bit. 

“I want you to know that this is miserable and I still hate you,” I say, hoping to regain some of that familiar loathing. It doesn’t work. Baz just laughs softly.

“Truly miserable. I can tell by the stupid grin on your face.” Shit. Was I really? No, I couldn’t be. I’m not enjoying myself. Impossible. 

“Whatever. This means nothing. When we go back to our rooms nothing will have changed. I mean, really, what was the point of all this?” Baz looks taken aback. It stings. Normally I’d relish in this. What’s wrong with me tonight?

“Perhaps your precious mentor has just cooked up another ploy to torture you.” He seems dejected. I wish I’d never opened my mouth. Now _that_ is as familiar of a feeling as it gets.

“Baz, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Really, this is quite nice.” We’re both silent for a beat. He looks at me again. “I prefer this to fighting. Like you said earlier, it’s tiring after a while.” His mouth curls at the corners, just a tiny bit. Almost imperceptible, but since I’m so close, it’s glaringly obvious.

“Funny how you could tire of the one thing you’re good at.” He’s not smiling anymore. We’re back to pointless jabs and antagonistic remarks, as usual. A part of me shrivels up and withers away. I muster up my most horrible grimace and stare over his shoulder off into Merlin-knows-what.

“Arsehole.” His grip on my shoulder shifts.

“Very original, Snow,” he retorts. I growl. The lights around us continue to swirl; how long have they been doing that? How long have we been dancing? “In any case, at least you managed to control yourself long enough not to blow us all to smithereens, so I suppose I owe you a thank-you.” It’s meant to be cruel. He misses the mark. I laugh again, and I can only hope that it sounds as empty as I feel. We were so close. _Close to what?_ I ask myself-- _Close to each other?_ I suppose that’s it. I don’t think we’ve been that close since the Crucible cast us together all those years ago. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Nothing is ever funny anymore.” The song is over. I pull away from him and head to the exit. I already miss that feeling of floating. 

* * *

BAZ

Sharing a dance with your worst enemy is very rarely a good idea. It’s risky and dancing is an intimate activity, so you have to keep yourself very well-guarded.

Sharing a dance with the love of your life is like soaring through the sky. It’s freeing, it’s invigorating, you feel _alive._

Doing both at the same time is much like being in a cloud. You know that it will soon rain. The cloud will dissolve into thin air. And you will fall. You’ve already fallen. You fall some more. And you will hit the ground hard. 

Sharing a dance with Simon Snow is nothing like anything I’ve ever done before. He’s terrible at it, but he promised me civility. His bright blue eyes weren’t filled with hatred. Tonight, they seemed to almost mirror my own. 

And he liked it better than fighting.

He left after things slowly returned to normal. We bickered and jabbed at each other like normal. After hearing him laugh-- _genuinely_ laugh-- the return to normalcy was as painful as a knife to the chest. I’ll suffocate if I go back to the room with him immediately. I elect to blow off some steam in the catacombs. 

I drain a rat for every kind word he said to me tonight. For every brief moment of kindness. For every slight chance he had to pull away that he did not take. Because I am a melodramatic, hopeless, romantic idiot. I drain more rats than usual.

My return to the room is as uneventful as it ever is. Snow is sound asleep, snoring up a storm on his side of the room. I am quietly preparing for bed as I hear the snores stop abruptly. _Shit._

“Baz?” His groggy sleep-heavy voice cuts into my stomach.

“I’ve returned.” He sits up on his bed and rubs his eyes.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Do I have any way to stop you?”

“O-Okay. Well, I just-”

“Spit it out.”

“Fuck, Baz. I’m getting there.” He sighs deeply. “I meant what I said earlier. It was nice not having to fight for once.” He yawns, despite himself. “I just… thought you ought to know.” He stops speaking, but he doesn’t flop back down on the bed. Just stares at me, his eyes lit up by the pale moonlight streaming through the window.

“Well. I will keep that in mind when I finally end you.” I go to lay on my bed and I hear his footsteps approach. “Go away, Snow. We had our moment of peace. It’s over.” And then-- the imbecile, the demon, the _monster_ sits at the foot of my bed and _tucks his feet under him._ Snow’s feet. On my clean sheets. I would be disgusted if I hadn’t longed for him to cross this gap for years.

“I don’t see why it has to end.” He’s staring at me. Even in the dark, his skin seems to glow. I think it’s just his proximity.

“It ends,” I growl through gritted teeth, “because my family would _have my head_ if I decided to get chummy with the protégé of the man who’s raided our house thrice in two months.” Snow blinks in disbelief.

“The Mage wouldn’t-” he stops himself before I can interrupt and corrects-- “no, wait. He probably would.” He shifts as if to get off my bed and return to his own.

“Go back to your own bed, Snow.” _Please stay._ “We go back to the way things are supposed to be in the morning.” _Let’s stay like this._

He moves to get up, as I asked, but turns to me at the last second. “In the morning?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“So you mean… our truce hasn’t ended yet.” Aleister Crowley. He’s pushing his luck. He seems to recognize this, based on the shit-eating grin he’s wearing.

“No, no, no. Not happening. _Go to bed._ ” He resumes his spot at the end of the bed, bouncing slightly.

“What, and miss out on my opportunity to _not_ be obligated to hate you? Not a chance.”

* * *

SIMON

I’m not sure what possessed me to do this. It was less than two minutes of a truce, but it clearly changed _something._ I mean, the laughter and the joking around and just feeling so at ease around Baz was a nice change of pace, at the very least. He seemed to enjoy it, too. So what’s really holding him back from embracing a permanent peace treaty?

“It can’t be so bad to be nice to me. You had no trouble doing it at the dance.” Baz grumbles again. If it weren’t so dark I’d swear he was blushing.

“The dance was not even five minutes.”

“So?”

“ _So,_ I can’t go rerouting all my neural pathways that are so inclined to make your life a living hell just because you had an enjoyable couple of minutes.”

“Come on, Baz, you’re smart enough to do that plenty easily.” I decide I will not move from my spot on the bed until he forces me out. “You know what? From here on, I’m not going to indulge your antagonistic side anymore. You won’t have any fun being a stuck-up prick anymore, so you might as well just start being sociable.” He groans and flops onto his pillow.

“‘Sociable’ seems a few letters too long to be in your vocabulary.” It’s a weak insult. He’s losing his resolve and I feel my smile grow bigger. To my surprise and delight, he smiles back.

“Fine.” Baz sits upright again. He still refuses to meet my eyes, but if the pattern holds, that won’t be a problem in a moment. “But this doesn’t mean I won’t still end you one day. This simply means that I will consider crying over your corpse.” I smile again and push off the bed.

“Goodnight, Baz.”

“... Goodnight, Snow.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning how to exist around someone you've hated for as long as you can remember is the clumsiest dance of all.

BAZ

I wake up knowing that something is wrong. I bolt upright to see Snow sound asleep on his side of the room. I check the time. Breakfast started 10 minutes ago-- and he’s still sound asleep. I worry for a moment that he’s been killed or replaced by some changeling before he shifts in his sleep and I get a glimpse of his drool-covered face. No, that’s definitely Simon, very much alive.

“Snow,” I whisper, so as not to spook him too badly. He grumbles. “Wake up.” Nothing. “Simon-” I say, and finally, he begins to stir. He looks around, bleary eyed, before finally seeing me. “Snow, have you any idea what time it is?” He glances at the clock between our beds, does a double take, and BOLTS out of bed. I’ve never seen him move this fast, not even when he’s mid-fight and two seconds from death. He’s running down the hall screaming before I even get a chance to get out from under my covers. How he got dressed and ready so quickly is beyond me.

I wonder briefly if he even remembers our agreement. I highly doubt it, so when I enter the dining hall I head for my usual spot and send him my usual glare. Except he doesn’t see it, because he’s already grabbed my arm and is leading me to his table. I suppose he remembered after all. Bunce casts me a strange look from her end of the table, but (thankfully) says nothing. Agatha has yet to arrive, although whether she will even join them here is, as of late, a total mystery from day to day.

“Good morning, Basilton.” Penelope carefully extends a greeting. It ends up feeling like more of a question, but I don’t think it’s directed towards me. She looks at Simon, who's already occupied himself with his meal.

“We’ve decided to call it quits on the whole ‘enemies’ thing," he explains around a mouthful of food. She takes that as an acceptable answer and turns her attention back onto her plate. “Hey, did you finish the homework for Mrs. Possibelf?” I’m unsurprised that he didn’t do it. Bunce groans.

“Again, Si? You had a week for this assignment.” He shrugs and goes a bit pink in the face. “I can’t keep doing this. She’ll find out eventually.” Simon groans this time, before planting his face into the table. It’s a good thing he’d already emptied his plate. 

“Can I have yours, Baz?” he mumbles.

“Absolutely not.” I reply. I’ve not even touched my food, though I suppose there’s not much to be touched. “We’re hardly friends yet, simply ‘not-enemies.’ That leaves quite a bit of time before you can go about asking for homework, I think.”

“Well your only friends are Dev and Niall, who may I add, are staring you down rather hard at the moment. I bet they never needed your work.”

“No, they did not, because they always found the time to do it on their own.” I turn around, and sure enough, Dev and Niall are giving me confused stares. I turn back around and ignore them. I’ll explain myself eventually. After I’m done torturing myself with unnecessary proximity to Snow. 

Maybe I won’t explain myself.

* * *

SIMON

The day goes by far smoother than usual. I never realized how draining it was to be around the Baz that constantly belittled and mocked me, but this version of him… it’s so pleasant to be able to exist without that stress. And only after one day!

I try not to think about how this weird truce we have probably won’t last. I definitely try not to think about the fact that a part of me has wanted this all along but was too afraid of rejection to ask for it.

Maybe that’s why I was being so weird during and after the dance. I finally got a glimpse of what Baz is like without his icy façade. He’s still very Baz-- posh beyond belief and quick-witted as ever, but now his taunts are warmer and we both laugh. I suppose the poshness is staying the same; I think it’s genetic. Like both of his parents both had some silver strands of DNA that got turned to gold when they combined in him. I admit, I used to hate that about him, but after a whole day of him NOT deliberately shoving it in my face, it’s proven to be more fascinating than anything else.

We fall into a steady routine after a few days. When classes are over, I head to the Great Hall for tea. By now, Baz is already at our table, chatting idly with Penny about some complicated concept-- today it’s etymology. I hear the words “language” and “muddled” and “Normal” before I get to the table. 

“The meaning of the spell was originally more about rules and laws, yes, but as I mentioned before, the Normals today use it for revenge plots and justifying violence.” Penny sets down her pen and begins gesticulating her words. “It’s not about where it came from, Basilton, but about where it’s going and where it is now. This is year-one spell history, you know this!”

“Bunce, I in no way meant that the current usage is not important. I merely said that origins are just as impactful in a spell’s usage. If nothing, it at least adds nuance.” Baz finally looks over and notices that I’ve joined them. “Snow,” he acknowledges, and goes back to his discussion. 

“Of course. I didn’t mean that-- but understate the importance of current usage of language in front of me again and I will not hesitate to hex you.” They both go quiet and stare each other down for a moment.

“Bunce. Have we spent the past five minutes debating the same point to each other?” Penny lets out a cackle and loses herself in a fit of laughter. 

She wipes away a tear and responds “I think we have,” before her words become absolutely unintelligible. Baz lets out a bit of laughter too, before turning to me.

“I should have stopped antagonizing _you_ long ago-- I get far more enjoyment out of arguing with her,” he jokes. I ignore the pang of jealousy that rises in my chest. I’m _not_ jealous of Baz wanting to debate with Penny more than he wants to bully me. What the fuck!? No. I’m _glad_ he doesn’t want to hate me anymore.

“So, I was thinking,” I grab the teapot from the center of the table, as well as a scone Penny so kindly got for me before I arrived, and continued, “since me and Aggi- Agatha... are no longer a thing, I don’t think it would go over well if I tried living at hers again this break. I’d rather not go back to a boy’s home again if I can avoid it, so Pen, could you…?” Penny looks sad. I know what the answer will be already. We’ve tried, and I don’t take it personally, but her family struggles to be around me for longer than a day or two. A whole week would be too much. 

“I’ll see what I can do, Si. My mum would happily take you but she’ll probably limit you to Christmas Eve through Boxing Day.” 

BAZ

Simon nodded and pushed a piece of scone around his plate at Penny's response. I’d never considered where he went for holiday. I suppose staying with Agatha made sense, but hearing about the possibility of him going to a boy’s home was… jarring, to say the least. I suppose that also made a touch of sense… but wouldn’t the Mage have somewhere better for him to go? A cabin in the Wavering Wood? A rented apartment? A summer home that he stole from one of the Old Families but is too proud and joyless to actually use himself?

Leave it to the Mage to make Simon as unhappy as can be. The man clearly doesn’t care about him. I just wish Snow himself would realize it. Has no one ever cared enough about him for him to be able to recognize when they don’t? The thought pains me. It cuts deep enough that when I open my mouth the next words to fall out are “You could stay at my house.”

Both Simon and Penelope turn and look at me, mouths agape. I maintain what is hopefully a cool, collected expression, but on the inside, all I can think is _fuckfuckfuckfuckshitshitwhydidisaythatnononononoSHIT._ No one says anything for a beat, then another, and finally, someone speaks up.

“That would… actually be very nice. Thanks, Baz. I owe you one.” Snow leans back in his seat and finishes his scone. I hope (very secretly) that I got enough butter for him. I’ve observed his habits long enough that it should be mostly accurate, but even still. The boy’s a menace to all of scone-kind. Butter is no exception. I blame him entirely for the Norwegian butter crisis. The cooks must order butter from there. Sorry, Norway.

So. That’s happening. This should be an interesting idea to present to my family. I expect my father to say something along the lines of “This is a wonderful ploy, Basilton. Getting the enemy to trust you,” to which I would say something like “Nope, actually, I am just hopelessly gay and in love with my enemy,” or more realistically, “yes of course. He doesn’t expect a thing.” Daphne will be excited to have a new face about to feed and baby. Mordelia will get a kick out the whole situation, if not just my suffering because of it. Fiona… well. Fiona will wring my neck. 

“So, will your family be alright with me just… showing up?” Snow asks.

“No. But if you let me do the talking, no one will get hurt.” Snow shrugged and went back to his food. 

“Sounds alright to me.” 

One thing about Simon Snow: he’s nothing if not adaptable. In any new situation, he assesses the immediate danger, and if there is none, he finds a way to belong wherever he is. He’ll fit right in at our house, where the danger is only immediate if you’re dealing with Fiona. This adaptability is one of the many infuriating aspects of him that caused me to fall for him. He’s always so _comfortable._ I have not experienced a day of comfort since… well. I was fully alive last time I was completely comfortable. Simon Snow, as usual, got my portion of life.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Almost ready, Snow?” Baz had returned from football practice. I went to one of their games a few days ago. Penny tagged along, and though sports aren’t usually her cup of tea, she seemed to be enjoying herself.
> 
> “Doesn’t take long for me to get everything together.” I sit back on my bed. Baz opts for the floor and starts taking off his gear.
> 
> “Just a forewarning, Fiona is the one picking us up. Do try to be on your -best- behavior.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two scenes are both Simon's POV-- they're separated by a horizontal line, which in the past I've only used to mark a switch in perspective, but I didn't want anyone to get confused so here's a heads up!

SIMON

The time for holiday break snuck up on me. The thought of spending it in Baz’s house was unusual to say the least, but I imagine it won’t be worse than the home. At least in Baz’s I can expect the other people living there to try and kill me-- at the boy’s home it always came as a total surprise. I almost miss the feeling of thinking someone would attack you in your sleep. I didn’t really fear Baz attacking me anymore, which is nice, but it always made going to bed a little less boring.

I usually decide to get ready to leave the night before holiday starts. Packing my things for breaks is always a saddening process. It reminds me how little I have, and how impermanent everything is for me. I never dwell on it for long, but that doesn’t make these moments easier. 

This time, though-- this time I get to look forward to something new. 

“Almost ready, Snow?” Baz had returned from football practice. I went to one of their games a few days ago. Penny tagged along, and though sports aren’t usually her cup of tea, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Doesn’t take long for me to get everything together.” I sit back on my bed. Baz opts for the floor and starts taking off his gear.

“Just a forewarning, Fiona is the one picking us up. Do try to be on your -best- behavior.” He pauses before sighing and continuing-- “She won’t be excited to see you, to say the least.” He picks himself up and pads across the floor towards the shower. 

“Should I be… concerned?” I ask, to no avail. Baz ignores my question and steps into the bathroom wordlessly as I begin to contemplate whether I’ve made the best decision in agreeing to go to his house. I’ve heard stories of Baz’s aunt Fiona. Penny says that Premal and Fiona have gotten into numerous… disagreements… in the past. Can’t say I blame her-- the Mage’s men can be QUITE annoying. I imagine having your house raided isn’t pleasant either. But Penny says she fights dirty. And not in the way Baz and I fight-- Fiona is unafraid of throwing punches below the belt, it seems. I let out a deep breath.

* * *

The next day arrives. My nerves are high. I’m in pre-battle mode, which is typically reserved for monsters and Humdrum threats, but I cannot foresee this exchange with Fiona going over smoothly… so I figured it’s best to be prepared.

I must be fuming at breakfast, because both Baz and Penny give me funny looks as I sit down.

“Merlin, Si, what’s got you worked into a tizzy?” Penny leans forward in her seat and whispers, “Has the Mage given you a mission? Should I be concerned?” I shake my head. 

“No, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” Penny leans back again.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Hearing these words from Penny eases some of my stress-- it’s become an inside joke. Whenever one of us is clearly stressed, it acts as an agreement to not push for details unless they’re offered. It’s a great system for both of us. Like now, for example-- I know Penny’s bright enough to figure out that this has something to do with me staying with Baz, and she doesn’t need any more details than that.

Baz’s response is a bit different. “I can smell your smoke from here, Snow. If you’re stressed about what might transpire when you see Fiona, I am here to assure you that you are absolutely right in doing so.” He smirks. 

“Fuck off, Baz.”

“Listen, Snow. I won’t let it come to a fight. Just stay quiet and follow my lead.” I nod. The clock rings out-- 10 AM-- and just like that, it’s time to go. Penny offers to put some protection spells on me, but Baz assures her it won’t be necessary. As we walk away from the table, I hear her whisper **keep a watchful eye** at me anyway. I sincerely hope it doesn’t become necessary.

* * *

BAZ

Walking with Simon to Fiona’s car should not feel like a march towards death. When I imagined them meeting for the first time, it almost always involved me carrying his corpse. The other times, it involved handshakes, arms wrapping around one another, and much, much more smiling. This will be like neither of those scenarios.

As we approach the parking lot, Snow’s smoky magic begins leaking out of him again.

“If you want to make a good impression, setting off a bomb in front of my aunt is _certainly_ not the way to do it,” I manage to mutter through gritted teeth. The smell of smoke dissipates quickly after that.

“Sorry. Force of habit.” He rubs the back of his neck and ruffles his golden hair.

I spot Fiona’s ‘67 MG from a distance. She’s sitting in the driver’s seat, facing away from us. I quickly concoct a plan of attack in my mind. We continue towards the car. I know I said this wouldn’t be a fight, but I’m not sure I believe that entirely myself.

“I’m going to talk to her first. It’s best you keep your distance for this bit.” I motion for him to stop and wait a few spaces away, out of Fiona’s line of sight. I inhale sharply and make my way to the driver’s side window.

“Baz! How is my favorite nephew?” she exclaims as she rolls down the window.

“I’m doing just fine, thanks. May I ask why you’re so cheerful today?” Fiona picks at her nails with a pocketknife she drew from her boot.

“I was just so excited to see you, of course,” she says as she flicks her blade from underneath a fingernail, “but I of course am also excited to hear you explain why you were walking to my car all chummy with the bloody Chosen One, and why he’s hiding behind the cars down there.” She casts a pointed glance at the car keeping Snow out of her sight. I clear my throat. 

“About that-” I begin. She cuts me off with a hand gesture. 

“Actually, I changed my mind. I think I want to hear it from the man himself.” She continues to play with her knife. “Go and fetch him for me, will you?” I silently comply. When I return to Simon, he perks up.

“How’s it gone? She going to kill me?” He says this with a laugh, clearly hoping I’d managed to assuage any potential danger to him.

“On the contrary. She saw us coming and asked for you to go explain what was going on.” Snow’s face dropped. I feel a wave of magic flow from him as the air begins to smell of smoke.

“This wasn’t part of the plan, Baz.” He pushes both hands through his hair and begins to chew on his lip.

“Indeed it was not, but as long as you’re honest, it… should… turn out alright. That’s all assuming you don’t blow up the cars to get there.” He looks up at me, which is strange considering he’s easily two inches taller. I suppose that doesn’t matter when he’s hunched over himself like this. I put a steady (ish) hand on his back and guide him towards her car.

“Well. If it isn’t the Mage’s golden child himself.” Fiona has put her knife out of view, but I imagine it’s still in her hand, pressed up against the car door. “To what,” she says through a tight grin, “do I owe the pleasure?” I hear Simon gulp.

“Well, uh, you see…” Fiona looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Baz invited me.” Fiona’s mouth falls open. She stares at me in shock.

“He invited you to… what, exactly?” She continues to stare at me. I feel as though she’s attempting to kill me just by looks.

“To stay with you lot for holiday.” I did tell him to be honest, but somehow, he’s managed to do that badly.

“Simon, may I have a word with Basilton? Alone?” He nods quickly and practically runs away. Fiona drops her surprised face for a moment to smile at his eagerness to get away before turning back to me.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, you had better have a fucking _stellar_ explanation as to why that bumbling idiot just implied that you may have _invited him to stay with us for Christmas._ ” She has not raised her voice one decibel, but she may as well be shouting. I almost-- _almost_ \-- feel intimidated.

“His loving girlfriend broke things off with him. He’s got nowhere else to stay.” Fiona is fuming at this point.

“So you offered to take him in… because you _pitied_ him. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“Tyrannus. Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

“As you can see, I’m completely level-headed.”

“Obviously not, if you’re standing here expecting me to take the _fucking_ Chosen One to our home in my car without a proper reason.”

“Would you relax, Fiona? It’s all part of the plan.” Fiona visibly loosens up at the thought of my invitation having ulterior motives.

“Merlin, Basil, why didn’t you just say so?” She leans out the window. “Get in, then! We haven’t got all day.” Snow perks up from across the parking lot. He clambers into the back seat. I try to take the front, but Fiona stops me. “Don’t make me say it in front of our guest, Baz. You know the rule.” I’m grateful I haven’t hunted recently, otherwise I know I’d be pink. As we’re buckling, Fiona turns around to speak to us. “His father was in quite a mood this morning, so if we’re to have you in a bed tonight, we’ll need a few hours to let him process it.” Snow pales at the thought. Fiona laughs.

“I’ll give him a call on the way there.” I put my hand out expectantly. Fiona wordlessly hands me my cellular. Snow’s jaw falls straight to the floor.

“What, never seen a real cell phone before?” I ask. He furrows his brow and shakes his head.

“Piss off, Baz, I’ve seen phones before. It’s just... how did you manage to get that onto the grounds?” Fiona laughs again.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.” We reverse out of the lot. Fiona turns on her stereo. It’s some classic rock song I’ve never heard. Snow quietly hums along. The atmosphere is… surprisingly pleasant. 

“So, Chosen One, you a fan of Nick Cave?” It’s a lame attempt at conversation, in my humble opinion, but I suppose it works, because Snow bolts up.

“I am, actually.” I see Fiona’s eyebrows raise at his response. I groan. She pushes a few buttons on the console the first few notes of “Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!” begin to play. She cranks the volume up to 100. Before I know it, Fiona and Simon are both screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs, seemingly forgetting to be enemies. When the song ends, Fiona whoops and cheers. Simon falls back in his seat.

“Baz! You didn’t tell me that your arch-nemesis was cool!” I glance at him. He flushes red at the compliment. It’s a sight that almost sends me over the edge. His hair is unkempt and crazier than usual. I want to run my fingers through it, to fix it, and then mess it up again. Fiona starts another song. They both spend the rest of the drive hollering along to rock songs and against all odds, getting along. It’s a sight I’d never imagined seeing, not even in my better dreams. Part of me wants to freeze time and stay like this forever. Another part wants it to end before I let myself go too far.

Instead, I consider telling Fiona the truth when we arrive. Maybe she won’t mind that my ulterior motives aren’t exactly what she thought they were.


End file.
